


blind saints on our porch

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, Chapter Twenty-Five: The Wicked and The Divine, Coda, F/M, Kissing, Nipple Licking, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He always hurts when she looks the truth out of him like this, with those Nancy Drew blue eyes.





	blind saints on our porch

**Author's Note:**

> Loved that cute little nuclear family couch scene, and couldn't get this out of my head.

She looks like a princess. Some tiered confection collapsed on the shabby sofa he’d helped his dad fish out of a dumpster. At the time, he’d thought it was a pretty good find; Betty’s a damn sight better.

He’s lucky to even have her here.

Here, in his shitty trailer, sitting on rescued trash. She’s the most expensive thing in sight, and she-

She laughs. Catches herself short on the sound. Laughs again, like it hurts a little more than the last, rattled loose, unwilling.

" _We_.” She says, meaning it. “It’s nice to hear that again.”

Her wide eyes on him, open and honest. Keeping him honest, and now it’s him that hurts. He always hurts when she looks the truth out of him like this, with those Nancy Drew blue eyes. So, he opens his fat mouth, like he always does, and pours the hurt into her lap.

“Look, I’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life, but-”

“It’s okay.” Betty says, and her hand slips over his. Catches short on his touch, and then drags their joined hands up to his knee. The shine of her nails was eye catching in the dim of the living room. An oblique feminine softness to her touch against the leg of his jeans. Jughead shifted, cleared his throat. “No, really. I want to be here for you Jug. You have to know- you can’t face this darkness alone.”

He moves towards her without really thinking about it, caught helplessly in the soft invitation of her anxious eyes. The moue of her mouth, the curve he remembers with his own. He grabs at her hands, meeting between them and she’s silk and flower petals and all that dumb shit, and _warm_ and when he leans in to meet their mouths like he’d met their hands, Betty gasps, like it’s a _surprise_.

Like he hasn’t spent every second since he left her in that parking lot kicking himself.

Her mouth is a vulnerable bruise against his own, slick with some gloss he’d never tasted on her before. They’re close, closer than they have been in so long, closer than maybe he’s been to anyone in years, and her fingers slide under the broad band of his suspenders. FP’s suspender’s borrowed for the big occasion, and when she snaps them, they echo, hollow against the tight span of his binder. Jughead reaches her wandering fingers first, her eyes second.

Really just wants to kiss her again, but telling her more dumb shit, is, unfortunately more important.

“You-you don’t need to prove anything to me.” Jughead assures her. Assures himself. “This road, this dark path I ride with the Serpents, it gets longer everyday and Betty-”

“I have my own darkness.” She asserts. Wide, guileless eyes and Jughead doesn’t scoff. Can’t scoff in the face of such earnest, endearing love. She’d risk anything for him. He’ll tear himself apart just to keep her safe.

“Show me.” He asks her instead, and slowly, so slowly she sinks back onto him, into the slumped couch, into quiet desperation of his love. “Please, Betty, _stay_.”

She guides his hands to her zipper, and he peels her dress from her like he’s melting her frosting. Petals fall into his lap, revealing the soft expanse of her skin, no bra. The slight curve of her body just asks for touch. One hand to the skin of her back, guiding her further into him. The other spanning her waist.

“Juggie.” She sighs, and he fastens his mouth around one hard brown nipple. He can feel the swollen line of her sex pressed tightly between them, bound by her skirt. She arches under his palms, impossible, beautiful skin and when she moans, she’s loud.

Jughead knew they were alone, but the freedom of her voice hammers that in, in a way their slow grind hadn’t. His hands are impatient now, pulling her to him. Betty sways into his mouth, generous and kind, like she always is. To her family, her friends, and oh god, especially to him. He runs the tip of his tongue across her nipple, and she hisses. Snake call.

“I’ll stay.” She tells him. “Okay? I’ll stay.”

“Yeah.” He says. “Yes, Betty.” His hand flexes restless on her waist, drifts to rest on her round swell of her ass. Pulls her fully on top of him, finally. He can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop, he loves this new lipgloss, sweet across her mouth and his chin. “I won’t let you _leave_. Can’t.”

She laughs like that’s charming, like he isn’t some possessive, self-centered ass who’s only dragging her further and further into danger. Her hands go for his buttons again, quick, plastic nails on plastic fastenings. Her pink lacquer on his blue chambray shirt, a working man’s shirt under the fancy suit he’d accepted at Veronica’s insistence.

Veronica’s confirmation, Veronica’s shady mobster dad- Betty’s big blue eyes, worried about her best friend- he was such a sucker.

A hand raises to cup his chin, pulling Jughead’s eyes to hers, stilling the directionless need in his body.

 _‘We’re alone.’_ Those eyes nudged and _‘I love you.’_ in the grip of her hand.

“You with me?” She asks him.

 _‘Mad, mad world.’_ She’d sung, sliding down dirty brass at the Wyrm, and Christ, he’s getting slick in Veronica’s fitted wool pants, that the Lodge’s had delivered to his trailer. Jughead squeezes his thighs together, jostling her and the fall of her confectionery petals across his lap, pressing her close.

“Yeah.” Jughead says, but he isn’t. She doesn’t hesitate though, not Betty, and her efficient fingers pop his buttons. His own hands are full of her, the loose fall of her hair, the sharp angles of her back, and the endless soft map of her skin. His shirt catches on his dad’s suspenders, but Betty is relentless. Bares him finally, and Jughead’s sweating. It isn’t until her hands go for the edge of his binder that he panics.

“Wait, wait.” He’s breathing hard, and he doesn’t realize he’s grabbed her soft hands in his until she tugs free. “I’m sorry-”

“Shh. Shhh. Jug.” She says, and pulls him close when he can’t answer, presses his head close to the soft beat of her heart, and when Jughead pulls in another breath it’s ragged. Wet and achy and he’s gonna fucking cry, he realizes, just before his eyes start to burn. Arms full of the best thing to ever grace this side of the tracks and he was fucking choking up.

“Juggie. _Oh._ Juggie, oh, no.” The hurt surprise in her voice makes him bark out a sob, and once he starts he can’t fucking stop.

Bows his head to her love, and lets himself be rocked in her arms. Her hands span his back, and he wants to hold her, can’t even hold himself up under the weight of his future. He can’t believe she’s here- will never know how he left her there, waiting by his bike in that ugly parking lot, under an orange halogen moon. There had been glitter under her eyes, like reflected stars.

She always made a fucking poet out of him, even apparently when he was balling his eyes out.

“I don’t- I don’t know what I’m doing, Betty.” He says, finally, weeped out and dry. Feels her sigh lift him. Let him fall.

“We’ll figure it out together.” She promises, and Jughead knows Betty could never lie.


End file.
